What once ensured that I sat at a table next to the teacher is now posted, Monday through Friday.

I've contributed to perhaps the best humor compilation I've ever read. Available now on Amazon!

My second chapbook, "The Second Book of Pearl: The Cats" is now available as either a paper chapbook or as a downloadable item. See below for the Pay Pal link or click on its cover just to the right of the newest blog post to download to your Kindle, iPad, or Nook. Just $3.99 for inspired tales of gin, gambling addiction and inter-feline betrayal.

My first chapbook, I Was Raised to be A Lert is in its third printing and is available both via the PayPal link below and on smashwords! Order one? Download one? It's all for you, baby!

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Starch? At the Ready!

It’s a flurry of excitement, here at Casa de Pearl, as I ready myself for another foray into black-pantsed-and-white-shirted encounters of the catering kind. My shirt has been starched into crisp yet bland submission; my practical shoes have been located; my favorite underwear, a trusted pair with a strict no-ride policy, have been set aside.

And my black pants are ready.

Funny thing about those black pants, though: they’re actually Mary’s. We’ve decided, in that quirky, kinda endearing but kinda weird way that women have, that I look better in her pants and she looks better in mine.

There’s a joke in there somewhere, but we’ll let it ride for a bit.

I don’t think men trade pants. Then again, I’m not sure.

I text T. “Have you ever traded pants with a friend?”

“Why,” he writes. “What have you heard?”

So that’s probably the answer right there.

Serving jobs are a fertile land of stress, hustle, and humor. It is a world of shouted jokes, often in Spanish; of carefully balanced plates and mysteriously crusted and rejected forks. There will be glasses to fill with ice and water, place settings to be set, napkins to be napped. I don’t want to get too detailed here – it’s all very technical – but suffice it to say that at the end of the night, I will be several inches shorter and several twenties richer.

It has to do with the way we shop. We walk in door, look at sizes on the sticky tags, believe no evil will have thought to switch the tags with a smaller size and purchase them with one foot already pointed towards the door. When we get home and find that all is well with our purchase, we simply gloat to our spouses about the right way to shop. Our mistakes we bury, with the the ashes from the burned receipts.

Men do not trade pant's because like our lawn tool we know that the borrower will be years in returning them and they won't fit right anymore because the borrower has them permaformed to his own butt. No men do not trade pants for any reason.

We will though, for the right amount of money, sell a map to the graveyard of the poorly purchased pants grave.